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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28397637">Icarus</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkOutsidetheLines/pseuds/InkOutsidetheLines'>InkOutsidetheLines</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Slow Burn, WIP, actually dealing with Steve's trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:47:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,879</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28397637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkOutsidetheLines/pseuds/InkOutsidetheLines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie is content to stay behind the scenes, patching field agents up so they can continue SHIELD's work. Despite working for SHIELD, she was never really interested in having an adventure herself. Then SHIELD finds Steve Rogers in the ice, and what starts as an attempt to help him adjust spirals into something bigger than she ever expected.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>He was frozen laying down.</em>
</p>
<p>Of all the things about this situation that could linger in Angie's mind, that probably wasn't the most important. SHIELD had found the frozen body of Steve Rogers – <em>Captain America</em> – and brought him home, only to discover that somehow, he <em>wasn't dead</em>. There was so much about that situation that Angie could dwell on, and yet…</p>
<p>
  <em>He was flying the plane when it crashed. But he was frozen laying down.</em>
</p>
<p>The thought lingered, even as Angie and two other nurses changed him into the clothing that had been provided; a t-shirt with the old SSR logo printed on it, loose khaki pants, and brown boots. It had been several days since he'd been defrosted, and as SHIELD's medical team couldn't find anything wrong with him, Director Fury was finally ready to wake him up.</p>
<p>"Don't know why they're bothering with shoes," Skyler grumbled as she tied the laces. "He's supposed to be waking up in a 40's style hospital, it's not like they'd have left shoes on him."</p>
<p>"Director Fury wants him dressed up," Max said, "so that's really all that matters."</p>
<p>The goal of that afternoon's charade was to ease him into the 21st century. They were as certain as they could be that there was no physical damage to worry about – Dr. Erskine's serum had had fascinating effects on Steve's ability to heal and remain healthy. But there was no way to be sure what his mental state might be like until he woke up.</p>
<p>Once he was changed, they got him onto a gurney and moved him to the fake room that had been built specifically for this moment. On the inside, the fake cream and green walls looked solid. Angie would never guess they weren't, if she were the one waking up in here. They moved him onto the retro, metal framed bed, then Angie and Max went to join Dr. Robbins in the observation room while Skyler returned the gurney.</p>
<p>The observation room felt crowded. Aside from Angie, Max, and Dr. Robbins – there in case Steve wasn't as well as they'd thought – Director Fury was there, as well as Agent Maria Hill, and three other SHIELD agents Angie didn't recognize.</p>
<p>"You're sure he won't need any help waking up?" Director Fury asked, though his gaze never left the screens showing Steve lying on the bed.</p>
<p>"Completely," Dr. Robbins answered. "We've barely been able to keep him unconscious as it is; the way his body burns through medicine is unlike anything I've ever seen. He'll wake up on his own just fine."</p>
<p>Angie stood near the back of the room, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she watched the screens.</p>
<p>Even if the crash and being frozen hadn't left Steve with some sort of brain damage they'd been unable to detect while he was unconscious, he was doubtless going to be disoriented when he woke. The last thing he'd likely remember was crashing into the ocean.</p>
<p>
  <em>The crash didn't knock him out.</em>
</p>
<p>It couldn't have. If it had, then they'd have found Steve frozen sitting in the pilot's seat. But he'd been found laying down near the back of the cabin. Which meant he'd been conscious after the crash and then…what?</p>
<p>Had he realized there was no hope of getting away by himself, stranded in the ocean as he'd been? Had he known there was no possibility of rescue reaching him before the plane sank? How long had he lasted before he'd drifted away? Was he at peace with his choices, or had his mind lingered on regrets? Had he realized they were within months of winning the war, or had he just had to hope that somehow things would work out?</p>
<p>It felt like ages, waiting for Steve to wake up, though in reality it was under an hour. The cameras caught the moment his eyes blinked open. Angie held her breath, leaning forward slightly. Steve slowly sat up on the bed; his movements seemed stiff, but that was only to be expected. He looked around the room, confusion plain on his face, and for some reason he focused in on the radio that was playing some old baseball game. His brows drew together as he stared at it.</p>
<p>Director Fury spoke into the comms. "Agent, go in."</p>
<p>The pre-staged female agent dressed like an SSR agent from the 40's opened the door and went in the room, Steve's attention immediately switching from the radio to her. She smiled, clearly trying to project a reassuring atmosphere.</p>
<p>"Good morning," she said, closing the door behind her – a necessary step to make sure Steve didn't catch sight of the room beyond the fake one he was in. She glanced at her watch as she approached the bed. "Or should I say afternoon?"</p>
<p>"Where am I?"</p>
<p>The thick Brooklyn accent caught Angie by surprise, though it probably shouldn't have. He was from Brooklyn, after all. His tone was wary, his posture as he sat on the edge of the bed tense.</p>
<p>"You're in a recovery room in New York City," the agent explained. She clasped her hands in front of her, pose none threatening.</p>
<p>Steve didn't relax. His gaze flicked up and down, studying her, back to the radio, then back to her. "Where am I really?"</p>
<p>
  <em>Wait, what?</em>
</p>
<p>Angie glanced over at Director Fury, noted the frown that had deepened on his face. She was pretty sure this wasn't part of the expected response.</p>
<p>"I'm afraid I don't understand," the agent said.</p>
<p>"The game," Steve said. "It's from May, 1941, I know because I was there."</p>
<p>The smile slipped from the agent's face, and Steve stood from the bed. "Now I'm going to ask you again." He walked towards her, movement deliberate and slow and definitely intimidating. "Where am I?"</p>
<p>"Sir," Agent Hill said, glancing over at Director Fury.</p>
<p>"Send the backup," he said without looking away.</p>
<p>In the room, the agent shifted slightly back from Steve. "Captain Rogers," she started.</p>
<p>"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice rising sharply in volume.</p>
<p>The door swung open, letting in two agents dressed in all black tactical gear, there in case things got out of hand when Steve woke, as it was rapidly beginning to look like was happening. They didn't even get the chance to speak; Steve could move shockingly fast for a big man, and before Angie could even properly register what was happening, he'd sent both agents careening through the fake wall.</p>
<p>The agents in the observation room swarmed for the door. Angie remained glued to her spot, eyes still on the screens as Steve jumped through the hole he'd created. He paused for only half a second before he spotted the double doors leading out of the room and bolted for them.</p>
<p>"Angie, come on!" Max snapped, jolting her out of her shock. She followed him out the door and to the two agents Steve had tossed aside. One was sitting up with a groan, and Angie moved to him.</p>
<p>"Here, let me help," she said, reaching for him, but he knocked her hands away.</p>
<p>"Back off," he snapped, pushing to his feet and running to the door. The other agent was also scrambling to his feet and running after him, which Angie thought might not be a great choice after being thrown around like that, but it wasn't like she or Max could stop them.</p>
<p>Max let out a frustrated grunt, but motioned for Angie to follow. "Come on. We'd better make sure no one gets hurt during this mess."</p>
<p>He jogged for the door, and Angie followed after him. <em>We should have realized this might happen.</em> He must think he'd been captured by the enemy or something. If they weren't able to explain the truth to him quickly, who knew how bad things could get?</p>
<p>The wide hall was mostly empty; Steve had already torn through, but luckily didn't seem to have left any injured agents in his wake. His main goal seemed to be getting out, not actually hurting anyone. They made it to the main entrance, and while Steve wasn't anywhere around, there were crowds of dark suited agents here.</p>
<p>"He must have already gotten out," Max said with a grimace. "This isn't good."</p>
<p>Angie stood on her tiptoes a moment, like it would help her somehow see over the crowd of agents; it didn't. "Do you think Director Fury will catch him?"</p>
<p>"Probably," Max said. He shook his head. "My biggest concern is how many people are going to get hurt in the process." Hopefully that wouldn't be an issue. Even seventy years removed, this was still New York; Steve should recognize it still, and then maybe he'd let Director Fury talk to him.</p>
<p>The agents dispersed, but Max and Angie lingered near the entrance, waiting. Seconds crept by like hours, but in the end, it was probably only a few minutes before dark SUVs rolled up, windows tinted so Angie couldn't see inside. She didn't have to wonder if it was them; the moment the SUVs came to a stop, one of the doors opened, letting Director Fury out, followed by Steve. Angie scanned over them clinically, relieved to note that neither of them seemed injured.</p>
<p>"This way, Captain," Director Fury said. Steve followed him without speaking, and Angie and Max fell in behind them. They were headed to the medical wing; now that Steve was awake, he'd need to be reassessed to make sure they hadn't missed anything.</p>
<p>
  <em>He's gone pale.</em>
</p>
<p>Probably the shock of finding out he was seventy years in the future. But his steps were steady, and his gaze focused, so Angie didn't think he was in any danger of passing out.</p>
<p>"I'm sure you have plenty of questions, Captain," Director Fury said as they walked. "I'll do my best to answer them. In the meantime, we need to get you checked over."</p>
<p>Steve's gaze shifted Max and Angie's way, assessing. She doubted it was the first time he'd noticed them – they kind of stood out, as the only two people wearing scrubs in a sea of dark suits – but it was the first moment he'd noticeably paid attention to them, and it set off nervous butterflies in her stomach.</p>
<p>
  <em>Don't be nervous. It's Steve. He's nice.</em>
</p>
<p>He didn't look particularly nice in that moment, or even all that much like the man she'd pictured from all the stories she'd grown up on of him. There was something sharp and wary in his expression, and it reminded Angie that the last time he'd been conscious, he'd been fighting the Red Skull to the death.</p>
<p><em>Steve's</em> death.</p>
<p>His gaze only lingered on them a moment before shifting back to Director Fury. "Who are you, exactly? What is this place?"</p>
<p>"I'm Director Nick Fury." He gestured around them. "This is the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. Also known as SHIELD. We're what the SSR evolved into."</p>
<p>The frown on Steve's face deepened. They made it to the medical wing, where Dr. Robbins was waiting for them, no doubt having retreated there the moment Steve had initially made a run for it. "Good, you're back," Dr. Robbins said. "Let's get started; we've got tests to do, and not a lot of day left to do it."</p>
<p>Steve came to a stop. "Tests? What tests?"</p>
<p>"It's just a checkup," Director Fury assured him, his even tone more soothing than Dr. Robbins's brusque manner, in Angie's opinion. "You were frozen a long time; we want to make sure you're alright."</p>
<p>Steve didn't seem to agree. "I'd rather just get some answers."</p>
<p>"I can brief you while you're being checked," Director Fury said.</p>
<p>He looked like he wanted to keep arguing about it, and Angie found herself speaking without thinking first. "Please, Steve? We just want to help."</p>
<p>Steve turned slightly towards her, staring. Angie fidgeted. Should she not have said anything? Or, oh, she'd used his first name, maybe she shouldn't have done that, they didn't really know each other after all, even if she had grown up hearing all of Gramps's stories about him.</p>
<p>"Fine."</p>
<p>The agreement was grudging, but it was agreement. Dr. Robbins led the way to one of the patient rooms. Angie glanced back at Max when she realized he wasn't following, but he just waved her on. Apparently, he was going to let her take the lead on this one, since two nurses weren't really needed just to take someone's vitals. The room was already going to be crowded what with Director Fury and Dr. Robbins hovering while Angie worked.</p>
<p>"What happened with the war?" Steve asked as Angie prepped her notes.</p>
<p>"We won." Director Fury went on to summarize the events of the last few months of WW2, the ones that Steve had missed while he'd been in the ice. Angie tried not to interrupt too much as she worked, interjecting a quiet instruction here and there as needed while she took his temperature, height and weight, blood pressure, and other vitals.</p>
<p>Director Fury finished up his summary of the end of the war about the same time Angie finished her part of the work. Then it was Dr. Robbins turn to bustle in, asking Steve questions as he checked him over and Angie jotted down notes.</p>
<p>"Well," Dr. Robbins said as he degloved and moved to the sink to wash his hands. "There are more thorough tests that can be done, but the initial assessment is that he's perfectly fine."</p>
<p>Angie snuck a glance at Steve's stony expression, and wondered if 'perfectly fine' was really the right description. He was healthy, yes. But fine?</p>
<p>She flipped the file closed and reached for a nearby jar, unscrewing the lid as Director Fury talked. "Thanks for your help, Dr. Robbins."</p>
<p>Angie fished a lollipop out of the jar and turned to Steve just as he stood from the exam table. "Here you go."</p>
<p>The three men stared at her like she'd grown a second head, and Angie felt heat crawl down her face and neck as it sank in what she'd just done. Handing out lollipops was just a habit; while there were a few individual agents who rolled their eyes at it, most of the field agents Angie worked on got a kick out of being offered a lollipop, which was why she'd started doing it. It was a little thing, but one Angie was happy to do if it brightened their days in any way. But this was most definitely <em>not</em> the moment to do it, and she desperately wished the floor would open up and swallow her.</p>
<p>After what felt like an eternity of Angie standing there holding the lollipop out like a fool, Steve reached out and took the candy from her. "Thank you, ma'am."</p>
<p>She couldn't manage actual words, just a small noise of acknowledgement. As Director Fury and Steve left the room, Dr. Robbins shot her a look of disapproval. Angie wilted slightly under his stare, but he didn't say anything, just shook his head and left the room.</p>
<p>Angie groaned and buried her face in her hands. <em>I am such an idiot.</em> She didn't bother trying to tell herself not to dwell on it, because she knew she would. <em>The man is going through a crisis, and I offer him candy?</em> Maybe it wasn't the dumbest thing she could have done, but Angie couldn't actually think of anything dumber.</p>
<p>She couldn't hide in the room all afternoon, wallowing in her embarrassment, though the thought was tempting. Eventually, Angie had to go out and keep doing her job, hoping Dr. Robbins didn't say anything to people about her offering Captain America a lollipop.</p>
<p>Her shift was almost over when Ms. Finster tracked her down. "Ms. Thompson."</p>
<p>Angie started at the sound of her supervisor's voice, turning to face the older woman with dread pooling in her stomach. <em>Oh, no, did Dr. Robbins tell her about the lollipop? Am I in trouble?</em> Angie couldn't tell by looking if Ms. Finster was upset with her or not. Her mouth was puckered like she'd bit into something sour, but that was just Ms. Finster's normal expression.</p>
<p>"Yes ma'am?" Angie asked, her voice only squeaking slightly.</p>
<p>"When you come to work tomorrow, you need to bring a bag for five days," Ms. Finster informed her. "Director Fury is sending the Captain to a safe house for a few days to give him some time to adjust, and he wants someone there to monitor him. For some reason, the Director specifically requested you."</p>
<p>"Me?" Angie repeated. Why on earth would the director ask for her? Especially after she'd made a fool of herself in front of him?</p>
<p>"Did I stutter?" Ms. Finster asked, arching one gray eyebrow.</p>
<p>"Nope, no ma'am, I'll be ready," Angie said, straightening her posture automatically under Ms. Finster's stern gaze.</p>
<p>"Good." She started to turn away, then paused. "Ms. Thompson? Don't take any lollipops."</p>
<p>Angie's face burned. So, Dr. Robbins had told her. "Yes, ma'am."</p>
<hr/>
<p>The room they gave Steve to sleep in that night almost felt like a barracks room. Plain white walls, one twin bed, one small dresser, one desk with obligatory uncomfortable chair. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Steve could almost pretend he was where and when he was supposed to be.</p>
<p>Almost.</p>
<p>The shock was starting to wear off. Steve wished it wouldn't. Because the shock was the only thing holding back the grief.</p>
<p>It was one thing to think he was going to die. He'd come to terms with that. It was the sacrifice he'd been willing to make from the moment he'd decided to enlist. But it was something else entirely to wake up, find that he'd survived, but lost his whole world.</p>
<p>
  <em>We won. We won the war. That makes it worth it.</em>
</p>
<p>They'd stopped Hydra, and they'd stopped Hitler, and that was worth everything he'd lost. It was. It had to be.</p>
<p>Steve pressed a hand over his face and sobbed. They were deep, shoulder heaving sobs, the kind he'd never let anyone else see.</p>
<p>What was he supposed to do? The war was over, his mission was done, but he was still alive. He was alive, but his team, Peggy…even if any of them had lived this long, they wouldn't be the same people he'd known, changed by a lifetime of experience.</p>
<p>Steve was alone. He was alone and without purpose in a world that was suddenly unfamiliar to him, and he didn't know what to do.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Angie had read a blog post once that recommended buying brightly colored luggage to make it easier to find at baggage claims when travelling. The logic had made sense to her, so even though she'd never traveled on a plane before in her life, when it was time for her to buy suitcases to go to college, she'd picked out some that were fluorescent pink, with a neon flower print.</p>
<p>Now though, Angie wished she wouldn't have listened to that blog's advice. She couldn't help but feel faintly ridiculous, following Ms. Finster through SHIELD's halls with her eye-catching suitcase rolling along behind her. She'd tried to counteract the brightness of her suitcase by wearing more subdued scrubs than her usual choices, but for Angie, that meant wearing a pastel purple pair with her gray crocs. She tried very hard not to notice the glances of the agents they passed.</p>
<p>Ms. Finster had briefed her that morning on her assignment, though the instructions were vaguer than Angie would have preferred. Angie and Steve were going to be taken to a SHIELD safehouse called The Retreat. Ms. Finster either couldn't or wouldn't tell her the location of the safehouse. While there, it was Angie's job to "monitor" Steve as he adjusted to the situation, making sure he didn't take a turn for the worse. She was to send up nightly reports via a tablet that Ms. Finster had supplied her with.</p>
<p>"Remember," Ms. Finster said as they drew near the underground hanger that housed SHIELD's jets, "this is a wok assignment. At least <em>try</em> to remain professional." The words were accompanied by a sidelong glance at Angie's decidedly unprofessional suitcase.</p>
<p>"Yes, ma'am," Angie said, her grip on the handle tightening reflexively.</p>
<p>The hanger was large, but there weren't many people around, making it easy to spot the others waiting for them by a quinjet – the others being Steve and Director Fury. Ms. Finster and Angie both picked up their pace slightly to reach them. Angie eyed Steve as they approached. It seemed SHIELD had gotten him some changes of clothes; instead of the old SSR t-shirt, he was dressed in khaki pants and a simple button up, a plain brown duffel bag in one hand. He didn't show any signs of distress, his expression politely neutral.</p>
<p>
  <em>I don't remember Gramps saying Steve was hard to get a read on.</em>
</p>
<p>His stories had indicated the opposite actually, which made this feel a little weird.</p>
<p>"Good morning, Director," Ms. Finster said. "Sorry to keep you waiting."</p>
<p>"It's no trouble," Director Fury said. "You're not late. The pilot is still prepping the quinjet." His gaze settled on Angie, and she straightened her posture automatically. "Good morning, Ms. Thompson."</p>
<p>"Good morning, sir," Angie said. She still didn't understand why the Director would have specifically requested her for this assignment, especially given the awkward scene he'd witnessed the day before, but she didn't want to give him a reason to regret his decision. Then, feeling it would be rude not to address Steve at all, she looked up at him and said, "Good morning, Steve?" She wanted to cringe at the way her voice turned up at the end, making Steve's name a question. But it had only occurred to her as she was saying it that maybe she shouldn't use his first name. He didn't really know her after all; maybe she should have been more formal, calling him Captain Rogers, or sir, or something like that.</p>
<p>Ms. Finster sighed, and Angie felt like she was flubbing up the situation already.</p>
<p>If Steve was at all bothered, he didn't show it. He just nodded politely in her direction. "Morning, ma'am."</p>
<p>His use of ma'am made her want to wilt. She definitely should have gone with something more formal than his first name.</p>
<p>Luckily, she was prevented from embarrassing herself any further by the appearance of their pilot at the top of the quinjet's lowered ramp. "We're ready to go whenever," he said.</p>
<p>
  <em>Agent Barton?</em>
</p>
<p>She didn't really know Agent Barton per se, but Angie had treated him after more than one mission, so she recognized him. He was always friendly, despite whatever injuries he might have, and he was a fan of Angie handing out lollipops, to the point where he tended to ask for his preferred flavors. He noticed Angie, and she saw the recognition flicker over his face before he flashed a quick smile her way.</p>
<p>"Then we'll let you be on your way," Director Fury said. He turned back towards Steve. "Captain. We'll see you in a few days."</p>
<p>
  <em>I guess this is it.</em>
</p>
<p>Angie moved to the ramp, tugging her suitcase behind her, but Steve stepped forward, almost blocking her way. "I'll get that for you."</p>
<p>"Oh, that's not necessary," Angie started to protest, sure it wouldn't be professional to let him carry her suitcase for her.</p>
<p>"It's no trouble," Steve insisted, catching hold of the handle, and at that point there wasn't really a way Angie could argue it without making a scene, so she let him with a mumbled thank you. He picked up her bag like it weighed nothing, even though Angie would have struggled with it if it hadn't had wheels – she'd definitely packed more than five days of stuff, but without knowing where exactly they were going, she hadn't been sure what she might need, and didn't want to leave something behind.</p>
<p>Steve walked up the ramp, and Angie followed behind. She didn't dare look back to see Ms. Finster's expression; Angie was certain it would be disapproving.</p>
<p>Agent Barton strolled ahead of them, pointing out where they could stash their bags before settling in the pilot's seat. Angie took the seat behind his, leaving the copilot's chair open for Steve if he wanted it. He didn't, apparently, choosing to take the seat beside Angie instead. The move surprised her for a moment, but then she remembered that the last time Steve had been in a plane, he'd crashed into the ocean. He probably wasn't thrilled to be back in one this soon after waking up.</p>
<p>Angie glanced his way as Agent Barton took off, trying to assess and see if he was okay. A near death experience like his plane crash more than qualified as a traumatic event; would flying again this soon trigger a panic attack? It certainly wouldn't be an unreasonable reaction.</p>
<p>His hands tightened slightly on his seat's armrests, indicating that he wasn't thrilled to be flying again, but Steve didn't show any other signs of distress, making it hard to gauge how much flying might really be bothering him.</p>
<p>Steve noticed her staring, and raised an eyebrow. "Did you need something?"</p>
<p>Her cheeks warmed. "Oh, no, um, I just – are you doing alright? This morning, I mean." Angie didn't want to directly ask him if flying was upsetting. He was a soldier from the 40's – she didn't think he'd appreciate it, though it wouldn't be anything to be ashamed of.</p>
<p>"No change since you checked me yesterday," he said.</p>
<p>Well. That was probably true.</p>
<p>"Oh, Angie did your checkup?" Agent Barton asked, cutting into the conversation. "Lucky. She's SHIELD's best nurse."</p>
<p>Angie floundered a moment at the unwarranted praise. "What? I'm hardly the best…"</p>
<p>"You're the only SHIELD nurse I've run into that gives out candy," Agent Barton said. "That automatically makes you the best one, in my books." He glanced back at her. "Speaking of, you wouldn't happen to have…?"</p>
<p>"Sorry," Angie said, shaking her head. "No candy with me on this trip."</p>
<p>He pouted, the expression looking faintly ridiculous on a grown man, especially one that Angie knew to be one of SHIELD's best field agents. "Dang." Still, it helped Angie relax, her mouth turning up in a smile at his antics.</p>
<p>A moment of silence followed, then Steve spoke up. "Agent Barton, could you tell me where we're going?"</p>
<p>"The Retreat," Agent Barton said. "Exact location is classified, because that's how SHIELD rolls. Won't take long to get there though. It's a nice spot. Got pond and fishing equipment, if you like that sort of thing."</p>
<p>Steve frowned slightly, probably not pleased about not knowing exactly where he was going to be. "Never tried it before."</p>
<p>"Well, now's an opportunity," Agent Barton said. "What about you, Angie? You like to fish?"</p>
<p>"Yes, actually," Angie said, earning a look of surprise from Steve. She shrugged a little. "My parents were outdoorsy. We'd go on family fishing trips when I was a kid." Camping too occasionally, though Angie had been less fond of those outings. While she enjoyed the peacefulness of fishing, she didn't much like sleeping in a tent, and not having a hot shower readily available.</p>
<p>"Sounds fun," Agent Barton said. "Ever do any deep-sea fishing?"</p>
<p>"Only once," Angie said. She shook her head and smiled at the memory. "It didn't go well; it turns out my dad gets really seasick on the ocean. We stuck to lakes and rivers after that."</p>
<p>Agent Barton snorted, clearly amused by the anecdote. "Well then, maybe you can teach the captain how to fish. Though I'm not sure what's living in the pond."</p>
<p>Angie glanced Steve's way, suddenly uncertain. She wasn't sure if teaching him to fish fell under the list of things Ms. Finster would consider professional, or if Steve would even be interested. "I suppose?"</p>
<p>Steve didn't seem to have anything to say in favor of or against the idea, and the conversation tapered off.</p>
<p>Luckily, the flight was as short as Agent Barton had promised it would be. Not quite half an hour later, they were landing. Steve got his bag and Angie's.</p>
<p>"I can carry mine," she tried to offer, but Steve shook his head.</p>
<p>"Don't worry, I've got it," he said.</p>
<p>She still wasn't sure it was the professional thing to do, to let him carry her stuff. But when Agent Barton lowered the quinjet's ramp, Angie realized she was grateful Steve had insisted. There were no sidewalks or paved ground here; it was all grass and trees and bushes growing up around a large pond, a cozy looking cabin on the other side. Her suitcase wheels wouldn't have been terribly helpful navigating the terrain, and Angie would have struggled with it.</p>
<p>Agent Barton led the way to the log cabin. It had been built almost right up on the pond, with a small covered porch. "No need to worry about anyone finding you here," Agent Barton said. He waved one hand in a circle. "There's an electrified fence to keep people out; we're also a decent way out from any towns, so the chances of someone stumbling on this place by accident are pretty low."</p>
<p>That made sense, Angie supposed, given this was a SHIELD safehouse. Agent Barton led the way inside the cabin. The interior matched the looks outside, with its wooden walls and floors. There was a stone fireplace in the living room, a couch covered by a worn quilt, and a small desk with a computer tucked in one corner. The living room bled into the kitchen, which was small but functional, with all the necessary – if dated – appliances.</p>
<p>Agent Barton jerked a thumb towards the kitchen. "The fridge and pantry are fully stocked; no dishwasher though, sorry. Bedrooms are there and there, and that's the bathroom. That closet has the washing machine, if you need it." He tapped a cell phone that had been left on the kitchen counter. "This has been preprogramed with a couple SHIELD numbers to call, if you need anything."</p>
<p>"Thank you, Agent Barton," Angie said.</p>
<p>He grinned and shrugged. "Just doing my job." He strolled back to the cabin's door, waving as he went. "Enjoy the vacation."</p>
<p>Then he was gone, and it was just Steve and Angie. They stared at each other a moment, Angie at a complete loss as to what they should do now. She'd never had an assignment quite like this before; there was no familiar script for her to follow. "Um, so, which room do you want?" she finally asked.</p>
<p>"Oh, it doesn't matter," Steve said, setting down her suitcase. "You can choose."</p>
<p>"Okay, then," Angie said, reclaiming her suitcase handle. "Um, I guess we should unpack?" They were going to be there five days, living out of a suitcase the whole time would be inconvenient.</p>
<p>"Sure," Steve agreed, but he didn't move, and Angie realized he was waiting for her to pick a room.</p>
<p>"Right then," she said, tugging her suitcase along as she went for the nearest bedroom door. "I'm going to do that."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Steve went to the room Ms. Thompson hadn't picked. It was small, and furnished in the same cozy, rustic style as the rest of the cabin. It had a full bed covered with a quilt, patterned curtains framing a window, a small dresser topped with knickknacks to make it homey. Someone had gone to a lot of effort to make the cabin feel lived in. Probably supposed to make the place more comfortable. Steve thought it was a wasted effort.</p>
<p>He dropped his duffel bag on the bed and unzipped it. He didn't trust this place. Agent Barton had talked about the electric fence that kept people out, but Steve would be money it was supposed to keep people in as well. Leaving the boundaries of The Retreat probably wouldn't be easy.</p>
<p>Not that Steve planned to try. Where would he go?</p>
<p>But just because he didn't have anywhere else to go didn't mean Steve automatically trusted SHIELD or Director Fury. He didn't know anything about SHIELD really, except that Director Fury claimed they'd grown from the SSR. Just because Director Fury said it, didn't make it true.</p>
<p>
  <em>I could ask Ms. Thompson.</em>
</p>
<p>Of course, she worked for SHIELD, which automatically made her answers suspect. Though…truthfully, it was hard to suspect Ms. Thompson of anything, really. She was too easily flustered for Steve to believe she would be an effective liar.</p>
<p>The thought made him pause. <em>If she isn't a good liar…that might make her the best source to get information from.</em></p>
<p>A better source that Director Fury, in some ways. Being an effective liar was probably a requirement for his job. And understandably so, but that didn't make trusting him easier.</p>
<p>Steve finished unpacking before Ms. Thompson, which wasn't much of a surprise, considering the size of her suitcase. How much stuff did she need for five days? He didn't feel like staying in his room, so he wandered back out and scanned over the cabin. There wasn't really that much to see, but Steve wanted to do <em>something</em>, so when he spotted the coffee pot in the kitchen, he went for it. It took him a minute to figure out how to work the thing – who would have guessed the way people made coffee would change? – but he got it working in the end, and leaned against the counter while he waited.</p>
<p>Ms. Thompson came out of her room around the same time the coffee started trickling into the pot, and Steve glanced her way. The oddness of her outfit struck him again; Steve had never seen any nurse dress the way she did. He was used to seeing nurses in starched dresses covered with aprons, white caps pinned in their hair, or their field uniforms, the loose blouse and trousers reminiscent of a soldier's uniform. The uniform Ms. Thompson wore wasn't like either of those. And it was a uniform, he'd seen enough people in SHIELD's medical wing wearing similar clothing to be sure of that much, even if no one else had been wearing a uniform as…colorful as hers. Though the one she wore today didn't have cartoonish cats on it, though the soft purple color still seemed an unusual choice to him.</p>
<p>Just another of the millions of ways things had changed.</p>
<p>She spotted him almost immediately, and paused. The whole situation was clearly unusual for her as well. Steve cleared his throat and gestured to the coffee pot. "Would you like some?" he asked, making an effort to be polite.</p>
<p>"Sure, thanks," she said. She moved to the fridge, opening it to find a bottle of creamer. Steve searched the cupboards for mugs, and found a mismatched set. He picked two at random, and the coffee maker sputtered as it finished. He poured it into both cups and passed one to Ms. Thompson. She poured creamer in hers, then paused. "Did you want any?" she asked, holding up the bottle.</p>
<p>"No thanks," Steve said. He was too used to drinking coffee black; he wasn't sure he'd like it with anything in it.</p>
<p>She nodded and put the creamer back in the fridge. Steve watched as she stirred her coffee, blowing on it a moment before she took a sip.</p>
<p>"So what's supposed to happen now?" he asked. After all, she was the one with instructions from SHIELD, not him.</p>
<p>She looked up at him over the rim of her mug; her eyes were wide and blue, wisps of brown hair that had escaped her ponytail framing her face, and she was pretty, actually. Steve knew more than a few soldiers who would have fallen over themselves trying to win a smile from her, if she'd been around then.</p>
<p>"Whatever you want, I suppose," she said. "I'm just here to make sure there aren't any side effects from you being frozen that we missed."</p>
<p>Steve considered, drumming his fingers against his mug. "Do you think you could answer some questions for me then?"</p>
<p>Her head tilted slightly. "I can try?"</p>
<p>The answer was good enough; and slightly easier to come by than he'd thought it would be. And now he was suddenly unsure what he wanted to ask about first.</p>
<p>"What does SHIELD do, exactly?" Steve finally settled on.</p>
<p>Ms. Thompson frowned. "Oh. Well, they protect people. You know, from threats that police can't handle, or would be too risky for the public to know about."</p>
<p>Too risky for the public to know about? Steve wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "What sort of things do they not want the public to know about?"</p>
<p>That made her pause. "Well – I don't know, actually." She shrugged, looking slightly sheepish. "I don't have a very high security clearance. It's not needed for my job. I'm afraid I don't know much about the kind of missions the field agents actually go on."</p>
<p>Dang. This wasn't going to be as informative as he'd hoped then, if the information she could give him was that limited. He frowned down into his coffee.</p>
<p>"Peggy Carter started SHIELD." She said the words all in one breath, and Steve's gaze snapped back up to her face. Her skin flushed red, and when Ms. Thompson blushed her whole face changed color, all the way down her neck and to the tips of her ears. Her expression made it abundantly clear that she was aware of the feelings between Steve and Peggy, and the thought made his stomach churn. How did she know that? Was that part of his life just common knowledge these days?</p>
<p>But he shoved that worry down to deal with what she'd actually said. "Peggy started SHIELD?"</p>
<p>Ms. Thompson nodded, her face still red. "Yes! After the war ended, the SSR lasted a few years, but Congress wasn't sure it was really needed anymore. Peggy thought it <em>was</em>, so – so she came up with a plan to restructure it and stuff, and she almost single-handedly convinced Congress it was the best option, so they went with it, and they even appointed her as SHIELD's first director."</p>
<p>It was a shock. Steve didn't know how to respond. He'd barely had time to wonder what sort of life Peggy had lived after him, and he hadn't expected this outpouring of information.</p>
<p>
  <em>I should have guessed she'd go on to have an amazing life.</em>
</p>
<p>Peggy had never been destined for quietness, or obscurity. She'd had too much fire and determination to go quietly home once the war ended. Of course she'd continued the fight.</p>
<p>But it ached that she'd done it all without him. Not that Steve would have wanted otherwise. He could never be that selfish. But it hurt, like nothing else had managed to, hearing about the things he'd missed.</p>
<p>The ceramic mug shattered under his grip, and Steve hissed as hot coffee spilled over his hand. It had cooled enough that it wouldn't seriously burn him, but the drink stung.</p>
<p>Ms. Thompson caught his forearm - and Steve off guard, he hadn't expected her to move that fast. She pulled him towards the kitchen sink, and Steve let her. "I'm alright," he said.</p>
<p>She turned the faucet on to cool, and guided his hand under it. She studied his hand as the water spilled over it. "Doesn't look like you cut yourself. Didn't burn either."</p>
<p>"Like I said, I'm alright," Steve said. "I've had plenty worse than spilled coffee."</p>
<p>She let go of his arm and turned the water off. When she looked up at him, her brows were creased as she frowned. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought Peggy up so abruptly like that."</p>
<p>Just hearing her name sent a stab of pain through his chest. Steve stepped back, picking up a nearby dish cloth to dry his hand before going to clean up the mess he'd made. "Does everyone know about her?" he asked stiffly as he crouched down to mop up the coffee. He didn't say "us". Couldn't bring himself to mention his relationship with Peggy as an "us", because they hadn't really gotten there. He'd waited too long, hesitated too much. They'd shared one kiss, made a promise for one date... and then lost any chance to discover where it might lead.</p>
<p>"Most people," Ms. Thompson said slowly. "People study you."</p>
<p>He looked over at her as he stood, broken pieces of the mug in hand. "Study me?"</p>
<p>She nodded. "There was a whole chapter about you in my high school history book. A bunch of us wrote essays about you. There's a biography written about you. You're mentioned in every documentary about WW2. The Smithsonian opened a whole section about you recently."</p>
<p>The thought was awful. It wasn't just his relationship with Peggy out there for people to know, but his entire life, for anyone who was interested to look. There was nothing private left to him. His jaw clenched and he marched over to the trash can, dropping the mug in.</p>
<p>"Are you okay?" The question was tentative.</p>
<p>Steve didn't bother answering. "I'm going on a walk."</p>
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